


still at the start

by JourEtNuit



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JourEtNuit/pseuds/JourEtNuit
Summary: Five times Yasha gets a little bossy - and one time Beau really doesn't mind.





	still at the start

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Blood in the cut", by K.Flay, which I've been obsessed with since Marisha mentioned it was in her playlist for Beau.

1-

“You callin’ me a fucking cheater?”

Beau’s loud, indignant voice resonates like thunder in the jovial atmosphere of the tavern, and many heads turn towards the corner where she stands, a tankard of ale in one hand, the other pointing at the group of men she’s been playing darts with. It would be a threatening gesture, if she weren't somewhat wobbly on her feet. This is clearly not her first beer of the night.

On the other side of the room, Fjord sighs. 

“I thought we were supposed to keep a low profile,” Caleb whispers next to him. The rest of the party is sitting around the table, having a drink and a peaceful evening for once.

Before Fjord has time to reply, Yasha stands up, and the group goes silent. It still impresses him, the way she moves. So much grace, in someone so big - it’s jarring.

“Leave discreetly. I’ll get her out of this.”

She looks at Fjord, waiting for his assent, and he finds himself nodding. If someone can handle a fight - and Beau-, it’s definitely her.

As soon as her friends are out of the tavern, Yasha rushes to the other side of the room. She can tell it’s about to get violent - the air tastes electric, just like it does before a storm. And the way these guys are closing in on Beau leaves no doubt about their intentions. She’s vastly outnumbered, and very obviously drunk. An easy target. 

Beau is facing away from Yasha, so she doesn’t see her approach, but the rest of them go wide-eyed. Yasha keeps her face impassive as she comes up behind Beau, and puts a heavy hand on her shoulder. Beau tenses at first, then immediately relaxes when she recognizes her. 

“Good evening,” Yasha says, her voice low and clear. “Is there a problem?” 

The men keep their mouths shut, staring at her. Beau sneers. “Yeah, you fuckers didn’t think you’d…” 

“Beau,” Yasha says, cutting her rant short. Beau huffs but stays quiet, and Yasha softens her grip on Beau’s shoulder. Now that she’s getting a good look at the men, she feels much less confident in their odds. There are seven of them, young and able-bodied, and not quite as drunk as Yasha had hoped. From up close, it’s easy to read the hostility in their eyes, in the lines of their tense muscles. Two of them have drawn daggers already, and one is leaning against the wall, a nasty looking wrench in his right hand. 

Beau’s probably had too many beers to notice, but these guys are not just in for a drunken bar brawl. They must have had her in their sights since she set foot in the tavern - the Cobalt Soul monks are not very popular in the region. 

Yasha shifts her weight, wordlessly, and the clanking of metal draws their eyes to the huge sword strapped to her back. _That’s right_ , she thinks, as they all seem to pale a little. 

The men exchange uncertain looks. They thought it’d be an easy win, they weren’t expecting someone like _Yasha_ to show up. Now they’re trying to find a way out without losing their dignity. Luckily, this isn’t Yasha’s first time dealing with prideful assholes, and she knows how to appease them.

She takes a step forward, until Beau’s back is pressed against the length of her body. She feels more than she hears the stutter in Beau’s breathing, but Beau doesn’t pull away. Yasha puts her other hand on Beau’s shoulder, and doesn’t let herself get distracted.

“We don’t want any trouble,” she says, keeping her eyes on the group before them. “My friend here will buy you a drink, and then we’ll be on our way.” Her tone is conciliatory, but to anyone who knows how to listen between the words, the undercurrent of threat is impossible to miss.

Of course, Beau shakes her head at the offer. “What? No, I won’t.”

“Beau.”

“The fuck, Yasha? I was winning! Didn’t cheat, I swear! They owe me twenty gold!”

Before Yasha can shut her up, one of the men, the one with the wrench, spits at Beau’s feet. “Why don’t you come get your gold, little monk?”

Beau’s fists tightens, and though she can’t see her face right now, Yasha knows what she must look like - the way her jaw locks in anger, the way her eyes turn dark and dangerous. 

When she tries to take a step forward, Yasha holds her in place, her hands like iron bars on each of Beau’s shoulders. “Let me go! Did you see what he did? I’m gonna fucking break his nose.”

Yasha brings her mouth close to Beau’s ear, almost, but not quite, touching. “You are not fighting them. You’re drunk, and there’s seven of them, and you’re gonna lose. Pay for their drinks, and let’s go.”

Beau is still trying to escape her grasp, hands reaching to dislodge Yasha’s fingers, feet solid on the ground as she’s pushing away from her. She's nothing if not stubborn, and Yasha admires her dedication, but now is not the time. 

Yasha squeezes Beau’s shoulders, as a warning. “Beau,” she says, soft and firm. “That’s enough.”

There’s no mistaking her tone this time. It’s an order. Beau tenses for a few seconds, and then the fight seems to leave her body all at once, and she complies, albeit grumpily, throwing a small purse of coins on a nearby table. Without another word, Yasha marches her out of the tavern to safety.

Outside, their friends are waiting by the horses, Fjord looking like he was a moment away from barging in to their rescue.

Yasha releases her grip on Beau, the girl turns around, and suddenly, for the first time since the altercation, they’re facing each other. Beau’s eyes are a little unfocused, one strand of dark hair sticking to her forehead, but there is no anger in the line of her mouth. She looks frustrated, definitely, and sullen, and still pretty drunk, but not angry.

Yasha lets out a breath of relief she didn’t even know she was holding, and crosses her arms against her chest. Beau might not be angry, but Yasha is expecting at least a ten minutes rant from her still - she doesn’t take being bossed around too well. 

Beau bites the inside of her cheek, and doesn’t say a word.

 

 

 

2- 

Yasha stands still amidst the corpses.

The fight is over, and everything is quiet but for the birds chirping in the trees around them. Blood drips from her sword, blood that isn’t hers. She spots Nott, Caleb and Molly on one side of the clearing, all safe and sound, catching their breath. The enemies lie dead at her feet.

Slowly, she rolls her neck, and closes her eyes, taking a moment to center herself after the violence. 

“Oh no, Beau, you’re hurt!”

At Jester’s words, Yasha opens her eyes. She sounds worried, and that’s not something she likes to hear in Jester’s voice. 

“I’m fine,” Beau replies, from where she’s sitting on the ground, her back against a tree. She doesn’t look in pain, eyes still bright with excitement. Jester is kneeling at her side and rummaging through the haversack. “Did you see how I caught that arrow? Fucking badass, right?”

Beau tries to act out her heroic moment, winces a little as she does, and Yasha finally notices the blood seeping through her cloak. 

“Yes, you were super badass,” Jester mumbles as she takes out a small vial of salve. “Super cool. But you have to let me take a look at this, or you could be super dead tomorrow.”

“Nah, I’m serious Jester, I don’t feel anything, it’s just a scratch. Hey, you know that big guy, the one with the scar? I punched him so hard he had to spit out a tooth!”

Beau throws a punch in the air, then mimes the guy’s reaction, widely gesticulating as Jester is trying to lift up her cloak. 

Beau is oblivious, lost as she is in post-battle adrenalin, but Yasha takes in Jester’s small sigh of frustration, the way her hands shake a little, her eyes darting around for help.

Yasha walks up to them, and crouches down in front of Beau.

“Stay still,” she tells Beau, and the girl freezes mid-movement. Beau’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out, as if the sheer proximity of Yasha just rendered her speechless.

Yasha can’t help but feel a little smug, seeing how much she affects her. Beau’s eyes flicker from her cheekbones to her mouth, to the black line on her lower lip and chin, to her eyes, and back to her mouth again, like a moth fluttering closer and closer to a flame. 

Yasha presses a finger, gently, to the blood on Beau’s cloak, and brings it up to Beau’s face. “You’re bleeding out. Stop being a jerk, and let Jester do her job.”

Beau blinks, once, and frowns. “I wasn’t being a jerk.”

She looks over to Jester, who crosses her arms with a very stern look on her face. “Was I?” Beau asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Yasha feels a sudden pang of affection for her, and almost regrets her choice of words, but then Jester grins with all her teeth.

“Ha! No, I’m just messing with you, Beau!”

“Ugh,” Beau groans, as her head falls back against the tree. “Asshole.”

“But I really need to look at your wound, so you gotta lift up your cloak, please!” Jester adds in a sugar-sweet voice.

At first, Beau doesn’t move, sulking. Yasha clears her throat pointedly, and stares at her until she relents. When she takes off her cloak, Jester gasps, and even Yasha does a double-take. The wound isn’t life-threatening, as far as she can tell, but it is worse than she thought, and bleeding profusely. 

Beau rolls her eyes. “Come on, no need to be dramatic, it’s really not that bad.”

“Shush, you!” Yasha says, with a click of the tongue, as Jester starts cleaning the blood. “No more talking. Let her work.”

Jester is efficient, applying the healing salve and making sure there’s no serious internal damage. When there’s nothing left to do but stitch the wound shut, she looks at Beau, teeth worrying her lower lip.

“Are you sure it doesn't hurt, Beau? It’s a pretty nasty cut. I could give you something for the pain, if you want?”

Beau grits her teeth and doesn’t answer. Yasha stares at her again. 

“Thought I wasn’t supposed to talk,” she grumbles, petulant.

“Beau,” Yasha says, gentle but a little exasperated too. So damn stubborn, this one. 

“Yeah, fine, it hurts. I can handle it though.”

The bitter pride in her words makes something tighten around Yasha’s heart. Without thinking, she takes Beau’s hand in her own.

Beau glances at her, surprised, but gives a little nod of acceptance. Jester brings the needle to Beau’s skin. “Think of happy things!” she says, tongue sticking out as she focuses on her task. “Like puppies, and glitter, and cinnamon cakes, and that cute girl you were checking out the other night when you thought no-one was watching except I totally was…”

“Oh, Gods,” Beau grunts, hiding her face with her free hand. Yasha bites her lip to keep from smiling.

When it’s all done, Beau gingerly touches the sutured wound on her side, and looks up at Jester. “Hey, thanks,” she says, with a lopsided smile. “I feel much better already.”

Jester plunges a hand in the haversack. “You were very brave, Beau. You can have a doughnut.”

“Uhhh, cool…” Beau accepts the sticky, stale pastry, obviously trying very hard not to grimace. She’s failing, but Jester doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You’re welcome! OK, I’m gonna go check on the others now. Yasha will stay with you, right Yasha?”

“Sure,” Yasha replies easily, and Beau stuffs half the doughnut in her mouth like she doesn’t give a shit, but she’s blushing, a little, and avoiding Yasha’s eyes. It’s quite endearing.

Yasha lets herself smile this time, and pats Beau on the cheek. “Come on, let’s get some real food into you.”

She helps Beau to her feet, and pretends not to notice when she leans a little too heavily against her. 

 

 

 

3-

Beau hates being the back-up. Mostly because it involves waiting, and patience has never been her strongest suit. 

She wraps her coat tighter around herself, and grits her teeth. The flat rooftop she’s currently crouching on offers no protection against the frigid wind, and her mind keeps wandering to the warmth of the tavern’s common room where they took their breakfast. 

She glances at her side. Yasha sits cross-legged on the rooftop, sword laid across her knees, eyes closed, seemingly unbothered by the cold. She looks peaceful, almost, as the wind plays with her braided hair. Beau kinda wishes she could touch Yasha’s hair, and then immediately judges herself for that thought. 

She turns her attention back to the courtyard below, just in time to catch Fjord’s arrival. She straightens, and picks up her staff. “He’s here,” she whispers. Yasha opens her eyes.

“Remember the plan,” Yasha replies softly. 

Beau nods. She knows the plan very well. It’s a dumb plan. She’s said as much this morning, when they were getting ready, and last night, and the night before, but whatever. Wouldn’t be the first time they’d follow through on a dumb plan. Hells, she’s concocted her fair share of dumb plans. 

“Do not come to my help until you’ve received Nott’s message,” Fjord had said, looking at all of them intently. “No matter what happens, we need to get the scroll out of the tower, and I’m the distraction. After that, and only after that, we all attack.”

Beau had agreed. Everyone had agreed. 

And now Fjord is stepping into the courtyard, alone, and surrounded by crownsguards. Beau’s fingers tighten around her staff. Gods, she hates being the back-up. She’d much rather be down there with him.

She feels Yasha move beside her, rising to her knees to discreetly peek below. “Oh, that’s not good,” Yasha murmurs.

In the courtyard, the guards are circling around Fjord, taunting him. Beau is too far away to hear what they’re saying, but Fjord’s face is all the evidence she needs. Apparently, he makes the mistake of responding to them in kind, because they suddenly grow even more aggressive, getting up in his face, shoving him around. 

Suddenly, one guard slams the wooden end of his spear into Fjord’s ribs, and Beau sees red. She jumps to her feet and makes to leap down to the courtyard, but she gets barely halfway across the parapet before she’s stopped by a hand catching the collar of her shirt. 

Yasha yanks her back toward the center of the roof, hidden from view. “What are you doing? We have to wait for Nott’s signal. She’s probably still inside.”

“They’re gonna beat him up!” Beau whispers furiously, twisting out of her grasp.

Yasha is standing now, which means Beau kinda has to crane her neck to look at her. Yasha’s face is carefully neutral, but she can’t hide the worry in her eyes. Beau knows she’s conflicted too. “Come on, Yasha,” she says, low and persuasive. “The three of us, we can take ‘em easily.”

But Yasha shakes her head. “We wait. We need to give Nott more time. Fjord knew what he was getting into, he will be fine.”

Beau is torn, anxiety bubbling in her stomach like acid, eating away at her. The sound of Fjord yelling in pain reaches her ears, and she glares at Yasha, with renewed resolve. “Plans change. I’m going in.”

“No, you’re not.”

In one swift motion, Yasha swings her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Her arm falls on the back of Beau’s thighs, heavy as a boulder. Beau is so surprised that she drops her staff, and it clatters onto the rooftop.

“Put me down!” she hisses, contorting wildly on Yasha’s shoulder, to no avail.

“If you keep making so much noise, they’re gonna notice us.”

Beau squirms, and squirms, but Yasha doesn’t let her go. 

Fjord grunts again. The sounds of a fight echo from below. “Yasha, come on,” Beau pleads. She hates how desperate she sounds. 

“Beau,” Yasha says, and Beau’s heart stutters when she hears the distress in her voice. “He’s… He’s my friend too.”

Beau stops struggling. Yasha keeps talking. “I’m just trying… I don’t know, it seems like the smart thing to do. That’s what he wanted us to do.”

There’s a long pause, and then Beau sighs. “Okay.” Another silence. She taps on Yasha’s shoulder blade. “Will you put me down?” 

“Promise you won’t do anything stupid?” 

“I promise.” Yasha grabs her by the waist, and sets her down on her feet, and they’re left facing each other, somewhat awkwardly.

“Sorry for manhandling you,” Yasha mumbles. Beau’s residual anger disappears altogether, and she’s left with a weird, warm feeling creeping up her spine.

“You do that a lot, y’know?” she says, a little grumpy. And then, because Yasha’s cheeks redden suddenly, she adds, with a shrug : “I’m kind of into it.”

Yasha rolls her eyes, and sits down again, legs crossed, just like before. Beau does the same, and closes her eyes, tuning out everything but the slow, even, soothing sound of Yasha’s breathing. 

It’s barely a few minutes before Nott’s voice echoes in her head. “It’s done, I got the scroll, I’m out! You can reply to this message.”

Beau turns to Yasha, who gives her a nod. “Ready to give them hell?” Yasha says. Her smile looks ferocious. Beau cracks her knuckles.

“Together.”And they leap, in tandem, from the roof, into the fray.

 

 

 

4-

Let’s be clear about one thing, Molly doesn’t hate Beauregard. In fact, he’s grown quite fond of her since they met, almost three months ago now. Sure, she’s loud and blunt and needlessly aggressive, but she has a good heart underneath all that attitude, and really, that’s all Molly needs to be on board. 

Won’t stop him from taking great pleasure in telling her how annoying she is, as often as possible.

“Are you really incapable of staying still for more than five minutes?” Molly complains, in his most condescending voice.

“Can’t stop,” Beau lets out between two short breaths. She’s doing squats in the middle of the small bedroom they rented for the night. “Gotta,” she exhales, “Finish,” inhales, “My set.”

Molly shifts against the headboard, adjusting his pillow. “It’s midnight,” he deadpans. 

Beau ignores him, and moves on to push-ups. Her temples are glistening with sweat and Molly makes a face. “I hope you’re planning on washing up before sleeping, otherwise I’m not sharing with you. I like my sheets clean and dry, thank you very much.”

“Am not sleeping with you,” Beau huffs.

Molly dramatically puts a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded. I thought the whole purpose of this display was to seduce me and get into my pants.” In a somewhat impressive athletic feat, Beau manages to flick him off in the middle of a push-up.

“If by that you meant you’re sharing a bed with Yasha, I’ve got some news for you, sweetheart,” Molly says, with a grin. “You gotta ask her first.”

“Don’t call me that,” Beau lets out between gritted teeth, as she places her hands on the floor and pushes her body into a headstand. 

“Will the both of you please shut up?” Yasha groans, from the opposite side of the room. She’s lying on the other bed, her head resting over one arm, eyes closed. “I’m trying to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“Tell that to Beauregard. She’s the only one not interested in sleeping right now.”

Yasha shifts and opens one eye. “Beau, how much longer till you’re done?”

“Well, I gotta do pull-ups, and then staff practice, and go through some of my forms, and…”

“You have ten minutes,” Yasha interrupts with finality.

Beau frowns, which is a pretty hilarious sight since she’s still upside down, yet, interestingly enough, she doesn’t protest. Molly is almost tempted to leave it at that, but messing with Beau is way too easy, and always highly rewarding, so instead he makes the sound of a whip cracking under his breath.

Beau smoothly lands back on her feet, and glares at him. “You got something to say?”

His grin widens. “I have so much to say, friend. That puppy crush of yours is adorable.”

“Shut up, Molly,” Beau mumbles, wiping the sweat off her brow. She risks a glance towards Yasha, who doesn’t move or acknowledge that she’s listening to their bickering. Molly cocks his head slightly. 

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll fucking punch you in the dick, how about that?”

He clicks his tongue, disapproving. “So rude. Where are your manners, young lady?”

She rolls her eyes, and leaps upward, hooking her hands onto one of the ceiling beams. “I’m sleeping on the floor, by the way,” she grunts, in the middle of a pull-up. “That’s what I meant.”

Now it’s Molly’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s enough room for two in this bed.”

“No thanks.”

“He’s right, Beau,” Yasha says, softly. “You should take the bed. You don’t know how long it’ll be till we have access to real beds again.”

“Eh, I’m good. Besides, Molly talks in his sleep. At least the floor doesn’t wanna have a fucking conversation in the middle of the night.”

“Do you…” Yasha pauses, and rises onto her elbows to get a better look at Beau. “I mean, I’m a lot bigger than Molly, but would you rather share with me?”

Beau slips and falls down on the floor, and Molly has to bite his fist to muffle his laughter as she lands square on her ass.

Yasha sits up. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Beau mutters as she gets back to her feet. Her ears are bright red. “Sweaty hands. Uh, thanks for the offer. I’m… it’s okay, I can just… I don’t want to bother you…”

“Oh, for the love of gods. Just say yes,” Molly sighs, a little impatient. “As entertaining as this is, I do want to get some rest eventually.”

His voice seems to pull Beau out of her hesitation. “Okay, sure. Yeah. Thanks. I gotta finish this set first, though.”

Yasha looks at her, and there’s something in her eyes that makes Molly think she’s going to speak, but she stays silent. Instead, she watches as Beau goes back to her pull-ups, and Molly watches her watching, and his chest fills with tenderness. He’s never seen that kind of fondness in her before.

He turns his gaze to Beau, just in time to see her picking up her staff. “Oh no you don’t,” Mollysays immediately. “Put that down. Your ten minutes are up, now it’s time for bed.”

“I’m not done!” Beau protests, looking at Yasha for support.

Yasha sighs softly. “Come on, you agreed. It’s late. You can do the rest in the morning.” 

Beau stares at her. Yasha stares right back, and raises an eyebrow for good measure. A few minutes pass as they just look at each other, and right when Molly’s starting to feel like he should say something to break the tension, Beau clenches her jaw, annoyed but resigned. She places her staff against the wall, and leaves the room without another word - presumably to go clean herself up.

“Please brush your teeth, your breath smells like garlic,” Molly yells as she exits.

The door slams behind her. “Gods, she’s a pain,” Molly huffs.

“She’s not the only one”, Yasha says, pointedly.

He gives her a small unabashed shrug. “Oh, I’m just having fun, she knows that.” Yasha shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her pale cheeks are dusted with pink, and Molly chuckles.

“Damn, you really do like her, uh? Enjoyed the show tonight?” he teases.

Yasha turns even redder. “Molly….”

He sees her fidgeting with the blanket, frowning a little, and he softens immediately. “Sorry, dear. You know I don’t mean to mock you.”

“It’s alright.” There’s a silence, almost long enough for Molly to believe Yasha fell asleep, until she rolls to her side. “Good night, Molly,” she whispers.

“You’ll figure it out,” he says, very gently, just before Beau comes back in - and they all eventually go to sleep.

 

 

 

5-

The door slams shut, and Beau steps forward into the alleyway, leaving behind the shouts and songs and general tumult of the busy inn. It’s early in the evening - the sun is still high - but their travels have led the Mighty Nein into the northern part of the Empire, where the air is always cold. She can see her breath when she exhales. 

Her fists are clenched, shoulders hunched, as she leans against the wall of a nearby house. Beau is angry, and she’s never been one to hide it. A young man walks by, staring at her as he does. For a brief moment she wishes he’d say something, just so she’d have an excuse to start a fight. She's itching for a good old fashioned street scuffle.

She’s still wondering if she should find another tavern, just get plastered and forget it all, when the back door opens again, and someone walks out of the tavern. She doesn’t need to look, her ear attuned to the light, confident steps.

“I’m not in the mood to talk,” Beau says to the empty alleyway in front of her.

Yasha moves toward her until they’re side by side. “Beau,” she starts, but Beau interrupts her. “Don’t wanna hear it.” 

“You know it’s not up to me.” 

“Oh, cut the bullshit,” Beau spits out, bitterly. “Of course it’s up to you. Your choice to leave.”

When Yasha doesn’t say anything, she turns her head to look at her. Yasha’s face is impassive, inexpressive, and it’s like something snaps in Beau’s chest - the dam breaks down and all her anger pours out. “ You know what, I don’t fucking care. Go, live your life, whatever. Just don’t expect me to welcome you with open fuckin’ arms when you decide it’s time to come back to us.”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Beau.”

“Sure, yeah. Good for you. Well, I expect shit from my friends, and one of them is sticking around. Too bad you don’t care enough to do just that, so fuck me, I guess.”

“Hey,” Yasha replies, her tone a little sharper. “I know you’re pissed off, but that’s not really fair.”

Beau gets close, right in Yasha’s face. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

Yasha doesn’t take the bait, only shakes her head, disapprovingly. Beau is so very angry - blood is thumping loudly in her ears. This is the fight she’s been hoping for. 

She pushes against Yasha’s shoulders. Yasha doesn’t move an inch.

“Calm down,” Yasha says very quietly, and very seriously. When Beau raises her hands again, Yasha reacts in a split second, catching her arms mid-air, and then pushes her until Beau’s back hits the wall. Beau’s eyes sting, and she stubbornly blinks back tears. Sadness is quickly creeping up underneath her anger, but she’ll be damned if she shows vulnerability right now.

“I’m not going to fight you, Beau. Cut it out,” Yasha says, in a firm voice.

“Why not? You’re afraid you’d lose?”

“No. I won’t fight you because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t leave!”

The words are out of her mouth before she has time to think about it, before she even realizes what she’s saying. Yasha lets go of her arms, and her eyes soften. “Oh Beau,” she whispers. The evident affection in the way she says her name has Beau swallowing down tears once more. 

“Please don’t leave. We need you. I’m sorry I shoved you. Please don’t go.”

Yasha sighs. “I have other duties. You know that.” 

“Well, let me come with you! I can help!” 

Yasha smiles, small but fond. “They need you too,” she says, and she cups Beau’s cheek in her palm. Her fingers are warm on Beau’s skin, warmer than the cold stone against her back. “I’ll uh… I’ll miss you,” she adds, eyes darting to the side, a little embarrassed, a little insecure.

Gods, she’s cute when she’s flustered. Beau’s heart squeezes painfully in her chest, full of longing and hope. The anger has vanished completely, and now she’s ashamed of her outburst.

“I’m sorry about what I said. Didn’t mean it. I’m real sorry, Yasha.”

“It’s okay. I know.”

“Okay.” There’s a silence, and Beau’s attention shifts entirely to the feeling of Yasha’s hand on her cheek. She closes her eyes, and wishes for more time.

“I’m not going back inside,” she says eventually. “I don’t like goodbyes.” Yasha crosses her arms against her chest. Beau immediately misses the contact.

“Alright,” Yasha says, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t do anything stupid, though.” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be a model citizen.”

“I’m serious. If I have to break up a fight tonight because of you, you’re spending the rest of your night tied up on your horse.”

Beau snorts. “Wow, you really know what a girl wants to hear.”

“Shut up,” Yasha laughs, as she takes a step backward, still looking at her. “Good night, Beau.”

She turns around, and makes her way to the door. Beau waits till Yasha’s back inside.

“Goodbye,” she whispers to the night.

 

 

 

6-

Yasha finds her friends again in the middle of a wheat field, just as the sun dips below the rolling hills. The sky is painted in shades of orange and red and purple, and it looks stunning above the dim light of their campfire.

She silently says a little prayer to the Stormlord, as she strides towards the camp. It’s been more than a week since she left, and she feels trepidation down to her finger tips, worried despite herself that they might not welcome her back. The worry disappears as soon as Molly runs towards her with a delighted smile, and after that it’s only hugs and cries of joy, pats on her back and food shoved in her face.

When they’ve all calmed down, they sit around the campfire, and Yasha finally notices the blue circles under Caleb’s eyes, Fjord’s bandaged arm, Jester’s incessant yawning.

“You look exhausted,” she says, to no one in particular. “What happened?”

“So much,” Molly sighs. Now that she’s getting a good look at him, his purple skin is paler than usual.

“We’ve had a few close calls,” Nott chimes in, glancing at Caleb with concern.

“Well, why don’t you all get some sleep while I take first watch?” Yasha offers. “You clearly need the rest, and I’m not really tired yet.”

There’s a few mumbled protests, but they all agree eventually. All except Beau, who takes a swig out of her wineskin, and rises to her feet. “I’ll stay with you. Keep ya company.”

Yasha looks her over, but finds no sign of injury or anything worrisome. “Alright.”

Jester leans into Yasha, and plants a big kiss on her cheek. “I’m so happy you’re back!” she says, with a bright smile and even brighter eyes, before standing up and bouncing over to Beau.  She kisses her cheek as well. ”Night, Beau! Sweet dreams!” 

Beau blows her a kiss as Jester walks away. “Sleep well,” she says, in that special soft voice she only ever uses for Jester. Yasha’s chest feels warm. She’s missed them all so much.

Beau and her settle on the edge of the cart, side by side, and the others set up the bedrolls around the campfire. For a little while, they don’t talk, watching as their friends fall asleep one by one. It’s a beautiful night, clear and crisp, no wind, no fog. A nocturnal bird whistles not far from them, a lilting melody that echoes in the quiet.

Beau yawns and crosses her legs, turning so she can lean against the cart’s side, facing Yasha. “So, how’ve you been? You look good.”

Yasha blinks. “Oh, uh…” 

“I mean you look healthy,” Beau hurries to add. “And happy. Satisfied, you know? Like you got whatever you were after.”

“I did,” Yasha answers. There’s a silence after that, and she knows Beau is waiting for more. But she’s not quite ready for that conversation, not yet. So, instead, she asks: “How has it been since I left?”

Beau lets out a small disappointed huff, and rests her elbows on her knees. “Kinda rough. Caleb’s been… Well, we had an incident with fire. Didn’t go great.”

Yasha’s throat constricts a little, but she grits her teeth. Nothing she can do about it now.  “And you? Are you alright?”

“I’m aways fine,” Beau shrugs. Then she winks, all cheeky flirtation. “Better now that you’re here…”

Yasha dips her head, smiling. She’s missed this. Beau bumps their feet together, familiar and good-natured. The fire crackles, and they stay quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the peaceful night.

“Will you ever say where you go?” Beau whispers eventually. She sounds hesitant, like maybe she’s not sure she wants to hear the answer. 

“To you, maybe.”

“Oh.”

Yasha can’t tell if Beau is surprised or disappointed, and, instinctively, she reaches for her hand. “I trust you. And I will tell you everything, one day. Not tonight though.”

Beau doesn’t respond. Yasha worries that she said the wrong thing, again, because she always seems to do so, but then Beau’s hand is on her neck, and she freezes. “Yasha,” Beau says, her voice so heavy with desire it makes Yasha shudders. “Can I…?”

Yasha opens her mouth, and takes a shallow breath, and Beau kisses her.

At first, Yasha can’t move, can’t talk, can barely breathe. It’s been such a long time since anyone kissed her. Beau’s lips press against hers, soft and sweet and careful - and it’s like her heart missed a beat, and is now erratically thumping against her ribcage, violently, painfully.

After a few seconds of Yasha not reacting, Beau shifts away, and swallows. “I’m… I’m sorry. I thought you maybe, wanted the same thing, I… Fuck, sorry. Shouldn’t have done that. Shit.”

Yasha grabs her face with both hands, and kisses her. 

This time it isn’t soft, or sweet. Beau’s mouth opens, and Yasha bites her lower lip, hard, making her gasp, before she slips her tongue inside. She pushes against Beau, pressing their chests together, trapping her against the side of the cart until there’s no space left between them, until she can almost feel Beau’s fluttering heartbeat through her shirt. Beau’s hand is still on Yasha’s neck, fingernails digging half circles into her skin. 

When Yasha finally pulls away, they both are breathing hard and fast. Beau licks her lips, eyes dazed. “Wow. That was…”

Yasha presses her thumb to Beau’s mouth. “We’re not talking just yet.” Beau’s ears turn red, but she looks Yasha in the eye and kisses her finger.

Yasha traces the enticing line of Beau’s lower lip, slowly, with the pad of her thumb. Her other hand leaves the side of Beau’s face to trail down her neck, her shoulder, her arm, until she’s circling her wrist. Beau’s pulse is wild underneath her palm, and she tightens her fingers, just a little, and holds Beau’s wrist where it is, pinned against her thigh. 

Yasha kisses her again, a little less frantically, taking her time to savor the moment. Beau is deliciously pliant under her touch, one wrist still trapped in Yasha’s hand, eyes closed. Yasha licks a trail of kisses from Beau’s mouth to her neck, tasting salt and campfire smoke. When she gives a sharp little bite, Beau whimpers like she wants more. The sound sends a jolt of electricity down Yasha’s spine, but it also makes her remember where they are, and what they should be doing.

She lets go of Beau’s wrist, and backs up until she’s sitting on the opposite side of the cart. Beau exhales slowly, staring at her. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Yasha replies. She has a hard time not looking at Beau’s mouth. “It’s just… We’re supposed to be on watch. We should probably pay attention.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” There’s a hint of vulnerability in Beau’s voice, so Yasha rushes to reassure her. 

“But after, we can do that again! Kissing, and… I mean, if you want to. Of course. I don’t want to assume, I just…” Oh no, she’s rambling, and she feels her cheeks burning. She clears her throat. 

“I really like you,” Beau blurts out before she can say another word. 

It catches Yasha somewhere in the chest, the way an expert sword finds its way between plates of armor and into the tender flesh. It’s not painful, exactly, but it leaves her short-breathed. “I like you too,” is all she can say in response. 

Beau smiles, bright and young and happy, white teeth gleaming in the dark. “Cool,” she says. “So what now?”

Yasha settles against her side of the cart, and looks up at the night sky. The moon is almost full, round and pale, beautiful. “I think we can figure it out in the morning.”

Beau wraps her coat around her shoulders, and rests her chin on her knees, still smiling. “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”

 

 

 


End file.
